CSI: Australia
by ICRepresentative
Summary: A crime has been committed and it’s up to a dedicated team of Australians to solve it! Rated PG for randomness, stupidity and Australian colloquialism. One shot.


**A/N**: I can do this because I'm Australian and I know we don't really talk and act like this. But for the heck of it, I'm poking fun at the stereotypical Australian… everything. Plus it's funny. If you get offended by anything, I apologise for Australia. We've been like this since we were dumped here by the British. I also apologise in advance for all Australians. We're just so weird. :)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI, but this parody is all mine :) All MINE I tell you! The Russel Coight quote belongs to Russel Coight and his All Aussie Adventures which are © Big Crack Productions. Get behind!

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Welcome to Australia, a land as big as it is vast. Full of colour, variety, vibrancy and diversity in its natural and man-made landscapes, as well as its wildernesses and cities. The Great Barrier Reef and the wide sunny beaches of Queensland, the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House of New South Wales, and the wetlands of Kakadu and Uluru in the Northern Territory are just a few of the iconic and recognisable sights seen in tourist brochures depicting Australia. But enough with the chit-chat. It's time for the meat of the story to be told. _

Under a sky of diamond stars, over a desert of red sand dotted sparsely with grass trees, Spinifex and other hardy desert vegetation, a small homestead, made entirely from corrugated iron and cheap timber, comes into view. A man sits on the veranda in an old chair, drinking a coldie. His singlet is crusted with sweat and dust - here, obviously, is a bloke who knows what hard yakka is. The man finishes his beer, crushes the empty can against his generous stomach, and throws it into the dust. He reaches into the Esky beside him, and frowns.

"Hey DAAAAAL!" He calls out loudly. From inside the homestead comes a shouted reply.

"Yeah, what?!"

"We're outta beer!"

"Yeah?"

"Get me a can from the fridge, will ya?"

"Get it yourself!"

The man abandons the shouting match with his wife, but not before making sure he has the last word. "Bloody woman," he mutters to himself. Regardless, he does not rise from his chair.

Over the desert, behind this peaceful homestead, out in the desert, something is happening. A dingo yelps in the night. Then, through the night air comes the sound of a heavy thud. A body falls to the red desert sands, his eyes wide, staring up at nothing…

The next morning, three men stand around the fly-covered corpse. All three wear akubras (with the corks on strings), sweat- and dust-stained singlets, short shorts and flip-flops. The first man takes off his akubra and scrathes his head.

"This guy's dead." He intones.

The second man looks up. "You reckon?"

"I reckon."

The third man shakes his head, concerned and frightened. "I don't understand it. I was just sitting on me porch, drinkin' a cold one, and then this happens. I mean, struth, mate, it just don't happen out here!

The first man turns to the third. "She'll be apples, mate," he reassures. "You didn't see anything?"

The third man shakes his head. "Nup, sorry, but I can't help you blokes. This happened out the back of me place, not out the front. I don't have eyes out the back of me head, y'know."

"Right," the second man nods. "Look, you head back, have yourself a Tooheys. You've earned it."

"I reckon," the third man says, visibly relieved. "You blokes can handle this on your own?"

"Yeah, mate, no worries." The first man nods, putting his akubra back on.

"We're professionals." The second man adds.

The third man nods, gives an Aussie salute, and heads back to his homestead, his fears assuaged. The two remaining men stand in silence for a moment, listening to the buzz of the blowflies.

"So whaddya reckon, Bruce?"

"Well, Trev, I reckon this poor bloke was murdered."

Trev looks at his partner. "You reckon?"

Bruce nods. "I reckon."

Trev frowns, perplexed. "Why, you reckon?"

Bruce kneels down by the fly-covered corpse, and waves his hand over the body. A cloud of flies rises up, disturbed from the corpse. Before the flies regroup, Bruce pulls something from out of the corpse's head. He stands up and shows it to Trev. Trev whistles.

"Struth, that's a beauty."

Bruce nods. "Yeah. A beauty of a murder weapon, mate."

-

Both men sit in a crowded pub, listening to the cricket and sculling cold cans of VB. A woman (tall, blonde, blue-eyed and tough as nails like all outback sheilas) comes in, sees the boys, and goes over to join them. She also had a beer in her hand.

"G'day Trev, Bruce."

"G'day Maz." The blokes greet her in return. She sits down and grins.

"Lookit the pair of you dole-bludgers," she laughs, "Anyone would think you were working!"

"Oh, but we are!" He laughs, and the whole pub joins in.

Maz grins, and holds up her VB. "Cheers!"

"Cheers." The boys hold up their cans, and they bash them together in a toast.

"So," Maz says, after a pull at her coldie, "What's the word, boys? Any stiffs gone walkabout lately?"

Bruce shrugs and sips from his beer. "Oh, yeah, we found a guy out in the desert. Flies all over him." He pauses, then adds, "Dead, y'know."

Maz nods sagely, "Yeah, they do that. Y'know, these bloody tourists… they never listen when you say you have to wear a hat out there. The sun can get bloody fierce."

Trev nods. "Yeah, yeah, yeah… no, listen." He leans forward to make his point. "This galah wasn't no tourist. And he wasn't dead from sunstroke neither."

Maz looks over, her interest peaked. "You reckon?"

Bruce nods. "Yeah. I found this in his head." He puts a boomerang on the table. "See?"

Maz's eyes widen. "That's… that's a boomerang!"

Trev also nods. "Yup, and it's what killed the poor bastard out there in the desert."

Bruce looks over at his friend-cum-drinking partner and frowns. "Speaking of which, weren't you meant to call the coroner to take care of the body?"

"Uhh…"

_Out in the desert, a pack of dingoes are tearing apart the dead man._

Trev manages a smile. "I did, mate."

Bruce's fears are assuaged. "Goodonya mate." He grins, then sculls down the rest of his beer.

-

Bruce, Trev and Maz walk down a dusty road. Maz is examining the boomerang thoughtfully.

"I reckon I could get a pile if I sold this on eBay," Maz muses aloud.

Bruce is impressed. "You reckon?"

Maz rolls her eyes. "Yeah, course. I went to TAFE, didn't I?" She smiles, "I know how to use a computer."

Trev lowers his voice and whispers to Bruce. "How 'bout that? A girl with an education?" Both men snigger under their breath.

"Well?" Maz asks, "Who do you think did the poor stiff in?"

Bruce shrugs. "Well, if he was killed with a boomerang, I reckon it musta been one of them Aboriginals."

Trev mutters darkly, "Bloody Abbos…"

But Maz shakes her head. "Naw, there's no way it was one of them blokes."

Bruce frowns. "Alright, it was one of those chinks then. One of those foreign fellas."

Trev mutters darkly, "Bloody tourists…"

"It's gotta be a Leb, a Wog, or even one of them 'orrible…" Bruce pauses, lost for words, "What you call 'em?"

Maz gasps, "No, not one of those…"

Trev stares, "You don't mean…!"

Bruce rolls his eyes, obviously not getting any support from his colleagues. "Poms or Yanks, you bastards."

Trev mutters darkly, "Bloody Poms, bloody Yanks. The whole bloody lot of 'em…"

Maz puts her hands on her hips. "Well, you know what I reckon?"

"What do you reckon?" Bruce asks.

"I reckon it wasn't any one of them."

Trev frowns and scratches his head. "Then who could it possibly be?"

"I dunno," Maz shrugs, a gleam in her eye, "But it's what we're gonna find out."

The trio have arrived at another pub, this one pretty much the same as the one they left. They go inside and greet the bartender.

"G'day, Bob."

Bob grins back. "G'day you bastards! How about a keg or two?"

"Sounds good," Bruce says, sitting down at the bar, "Give us three."

"Each?" Bob grins.

Bruce shrugs. "Yeah, why not. My shout."

"You beauty, mate!" Trev whacks his friend on the back.

"Cheers!" Maz grins. As the beer arrives, Maz is too busy pondering over the boomerang to take much notice.

"Oi, Maz!" Bob attracts the woman's attention, "What's that you're lookin' at?"

"Aww, some poor bugger got whacked outback with it." She holds the boomerang up for Bob's inspection. "Now the poor bugger's dead."

Bob nods. "Bloody shame, that."

"Yeah…"

Bruce sculls his second beer down before turning to Maz. "Oi, stone-the-crows! What d'you think you're gonna find by lookin' at that thing?"

Maz shrugs. "I dunno. But, evidence is evidence… right?"

"Too right!" Trev sculls his second beer down. After a moment, Maz succumbs to peer-pressure and starts sculling hers as well.

Bob frowns, then leans close to the trio, as a bartender does when sharing a secret. "Hey, you know how you said some bloke got offed with that Abbo-stick outback?"

"Yeah?" Bruce finishes off his third beer.

"Well," Bob continues, "I heard there's this Abbo in town. Maybe he's the one that offed Steve."

Bruce thinks over this for a second. "Yeah?" He rises to his feet, pulls out his wallet and slaps money down on the bar. "Well, thanks for the heads-up, Bob. Keep the change."

Bob grins. "Get out of here, you bastard. You know your money's worthless."

Trev picks up his third beer and toasts the barkeep with a grin. "Cheers, mate!"

Bruce, by contrast, is not as cheerful. "Come on, guys. We've got a murder to solve." He snatches the boomerang off the counter and heads for the door. Maz and Trev trail reluctantly behind him, still drinking their third beers.

"What's gotten into you, mate?" Trev asks Bruce, "Bob just gave us free booze and you're storming out like a bloody marine!"

Bruce scowls. "What I wanna know is: how the hell did Bob know the dead bloke's name was Steve? Even we couldn't identify him coz he was all over with flies!"

Maz's eyes widen and she stops dead in her tracks. "Bloody hell, you don't think…"

But Trev shakes his head. "Now, give us a minute. You think Bob, our local trusty beerman, is a murdering bastard?" He snorts and shakes his head. "Come off it, you bastard!"

Maz frowns. "Wait, Bruce, lemme see that boomerang again!" Bruce hands Maz the boomerang. She examines it carefully, then turns it over. "I knew it!" She gasps, then points to a spot on the boomerang. "See that?"

Carved into the boomerang are the words 'Made In China'.

Trev mutters darkly, "Bloody Japs! They're behind the whole thing!"

Bruce smacks Trev upside the head. "Come off it, you dopey bastard! Only a local can throw a boomerang, whether it was made in our great country or not!"

"It has to be Bob!" Maz scowls.

Trev frowns. "But Bob said it was an Abbo!"

Bruce smacks Trev again. "Oi, numb-nuts, it's coz he didn't want us to be suspicious!"

Maz looks at the can of beer in her hand with distaste. "Probably the same reason he gave us the free beer! To throw us off the trail!"

Trev's eyes widen in horror. "But that's… bribery! That's payin' off a cop… and we're not even cops!" He stares at his beer. "This is dirty money!" But he sculls the rest of it down anyway. No sense in wasting good beer.

Bruce sighs, then sets his jaw. "There's only one way to find out for sure if Bob's the killer." He puts his fingers in his mouth and gives a long piercing whistle. "BLUE!"

Down the dusty road comes the sound of pattering feet. Suddenly, around the corner, a blue heeler appears. The dog skids up towards Bruce, kicking up a cloud of dust, then sits, panting, at the man's feet, grinning an inane doggy grin. Bruce kneels down and scratches the dog behind the ear. "Hey, Blue, howzit?" The dog barks happily.

"I've got a job for you, mate," Bruce says, and holds the boomerang out. "Take a whiff, mate."

The dog sniffs at the boomerang, and his happy dog grin disappears. He growls, then sniffs around. Suddenly, he turns, and shoots off, flat out like a lizard drinking, across the dusty landscape.

"After that bastard!" Maz shouts, and the three Aussie CSI's begin their pursuit.

Blue tears through the landscape, Maz close behind, her hair flying, her skin bronzed, and her knockers swinging like she's some chick from Baywatch or something. Close behind her comes the manly, lean and muscled Bruce. Finally, trailing behind comes Trev, a man who obviously loves his meat pies and sausage rolls… and even more obviously, his beer.

"Struth…" Trev pants, trying to keep up, "That dog… sure can… run!"

Maz points. "Look! Blue's chasing someone!"

Up ahead, the dog has put on another burst of speed. A figure up ahead yelps in panic, and starts running. But he's no match for an Aussie heeler.

"It's Bob!" Bruce snarls.

"Come on, you bastards!" Maz yells, "Let's get the bastard!"

Maz and Bruce power forward, and catch up with Blue, who has Bob backed up against a termite mound and is growling in a manner that would make a grown merino wet itself.

"Call off your mongrel!" Bob shouts, panicked, "I'll tell you everything!"

Bruce smirks, and strikes a heroic pose. "We don't need you to talk, mate. The evidence is doing all the talking."

Bob frowns, and shakes his head. "What are you talking about, you daft bugger?"

"The boomerang," Maz says cockily, "You think we didn't notice? It had 'Made In China' written on it. And you're the only bastard around here who buys stuff from overseas. You sell that crappy German beer alongside all of ours: the great Tooheys, VB, Coopers, and XXXX! Don't think we didn't notice!"

"And you're the only one who knew the victim's name!" Bruce grins, "There was no identification on that stiff, and you knew it! But you let slip. Big mistake, mate."

Trev finally catches up. "Yeah!" He grins, determined to be a part of this. "And you left your fingerprints all over the murder weapon! Bluey here smelled them and traced them back to the source!" Blue growls again, to further demonstrate his point.

"Oi, Maz?" Bruce calls over his shoulder, "Call the coppers. We've just caught ourselves an A-Class ratbag!"

Trev shakes his head sadly at Bob. "Just think, mate. You were the best beerman in the whole of Australia. Why'd you go and screw yourself over?"

"Because Steve owed me money, that's why!" Bob snarls back, "That lazy bugger couldn't pay a tab to save himself!"

The police ride up on mighty and proud Australian brumbies. Bruce waves at them.

"Take him away, mates."

As the police cuff Bob, the barkeep snarls at the trio one last time. "I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you bastards!" Trev lifts his fingers in an obscene gesture, which, for some reason, translates in America to the number 2.

"Well done, mates!" Maz grins as Bob is taken away into the setting sun, "We've caught another Aussie criminal!"

"Yeah!" Trev cheers, "So let's get pissed!"

The three CSI's cheer, and Blue barks enthusiastically.

And get pissed is exactly what they did. Seeing as Bob was in lockup, they 'confiscated' all the beer in his pub, and invited the whole town to help in the 'confiscation'. After the trio woke up from their hangovers, they were all promoted. Bluey got promoted too. And everything was hunky-dory for another week or so… until another tourist got lost in the desert and died.

Stay tuned until next episode, when Bruce finds out that some bastard has been shooting the cattle on his property!

Bruce shakes his fist at the fleeing shooters and screams, "YOU BLOODY BASTARDS!"

And Maz gets invited back to Sydney by her third ex-boyfriend!

Maz, talking on the phone, grins and says, "You bloody ripper!"

And Trev finds someone has poisoned the town's meat pie supply!

Trev mutters darkly, "Bloody bastards…"

And someone new shows up in the town, flash as a rat with a gold tooth! Who the hell could it be? Stay tuned!

_fin_

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A/N:** Ok, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And I wasn't even inhaling glue fumes. I apologise to all Aborigines, Chinese, Lebanese, Greeks, Britains and Americans. I also apologise to all Australians who chose to read this. I don't know what I was thinking. nn;; 

This is really not putting us in a good light, is it… Hrm. Sorry. But this, as I said, is a stereotypical poking-fun story. Not serious at all.


End file.
